


Sameepsita

by avani



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: The royal house of Panchal must walk their destined path, come what may. Krishna knows this, all too well.





	Sameepsita

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllegoriesInMediaRes (AllegoriesInMediasRes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).



Compared to its neighbors, Panchal has always lacked real accomplishment despite all its might; Drupada knows and accepts this. Hastinapur holds its head high by dint of its much-proclaimed honor, Magadha is merciless, and Dwaraka unrivaled at diplomacy and duplicity. All Panchal can offer the world, however, is sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.

That is all Drupada  offers the gods as collateral when he stands before the holy fire, crying out for vengeance. Apparently this is deemed a simple enough request to be granted: he is given not one, but two, children to use towards his ends. With care, he unleashes them upon the earth to win Panchal praise; with precision, he positions them where they might do his enemies the most harm.

He takes such pride in them that he aches with it, so much so that all the world must know.

“You boast remarkable children, O King,” says the younger of the Vrishni princes, and laughs at himself. “Though I doubt I have any right to call them so when I am only slightly their elder.” 

Drupada demurs, as a respectable man must, but his tones are insincere; his audience, all too aware, looks down to hide amusement. 

“Take joy in what you have,” Krishna advises. “Be satisfied, O King, with what you have.”

(And yet it is not enough to hope that someday the prophecy will be fulfilled. Instead Drupada lays his traps to catch hold of Arjuna the mighty and compromise his loyalty, and in the process, sacrifices his beloved daughter to the house he hates. He hears, years later, of her disgrace in the dice hall, of Drona’s silence, and detests him all the more; he leads Panchal, head-first and heedless, into war.)

*

Shikandi does not know what spurs him onwards into the heart of the forest, save for his desperate need to be as far from Dasharna as possible. Among the trees he need not lie; below their golden leaves, he is only one more beast, not betrayed by his own body.

Encountering the _yaksha_ is a stroke of luck. It stares up at him with narrow yellow eyes, and states the terms of exchange calmly: a fine male body for an unwanted female one. When others repeat the story later, they will speculate that the _yaksha_ was moved to pity by Shikandi’s grief—but there is no particular kindness or sympathy in those eyes, only cool appraisal. 

No less detached does the _yaksha_ sound when he speaks of his master’s displeasure, enough to render their trade permanent. Shikandi has always thought himself skilled at scenting out a liar, but either his instincts are mistaken, or Kubera’s servant is beyond mortal comprehension. It should not matter, save that the source of his greatest joy should have more meaning to it, save that it ought not to be a mere careless accident— 

Krishna places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s done is done,” he says. “Best not to dwell on it.”

(And yet Shikandi finds himself compelled to repay the generosity he has found, and for lack of any other cause to pursue, settles upon that of a ghost. The world knows the plight of the princess Amba a generation previous, but none but Shikandi dares pluck her forsaken garland from the palace walls at last.)

*

Dhristadyumna is born already having lost the first few years of an indulgent childhood, and always at the back of his mind destiny lies in wait. One day it will have him, he knows; one day he will not be able to defer it any longer. That is what he fears most. Drona's killer will never know peace; that is as certain as the Kuru princes' reverence for their instructor and his father's hatred for a childhood friend. When he stands before his father in the royal temple, he bows his head to the gods and prays, always, for more time, more time, more, more, more. Sometimes they listen; sometimes not.

He is born, naked sword in hand, and his first act is to sheath it.

One summer Father sends Dhristadyumna to study with Drona himself. Dhristadyumna stares, aghast: is he meant to murder the man so soon, in his very hermitage? Are his hands to be stained with blood already? And even were it not so, does Father intend the damnation of his soul for murdering his own teacher?

He frets himself into a distemper, until even his sister’s guest laughs at him.

"He said you were to learn the deadly arts, not to demonstrate them," Krishna warns him wryly. "Do not punish yourself for sins that are yet to be."

(And yet Dhristadyumna cannot keep foreboding from his mind, not during the months he listens to everything Master Drona teaches him, not in the years and even decades that follow, all of them free of blood-shed.

He is given all he wants, and yet nothing of the sort.)

*

Yagnaseni grows to womanhood thinking herself content. Is she not beautiful, is she not clever, is she not married to the five greatest warriors this land has ever known? She is Indraprastha's Empress and its greatest marvel, worshipped and welcomed by all, and best of all, she is the beloved friend of no less than Krishna the incomparable himself.

She does not discover what it is to desire, to crave until she has been cast down on the floor of the Kuru court, surrounded by petty princelings who rejoice in her disgrace and their elders, who ought to know better and pretend they don't. Her skin burns like fire, her face is still married by scrapes and scars, and she wonders if this is how her father felt all the year before she was born. Her uncle-in-law's boons do not soothe her anger; no more do her aunt-in-law's platitudes. Thirteen years in the solitude of the forest does not bring her peace; a year of anonymity among the maidservants of Virata only brings her more reason to hate.

"What will it take to curb your rage, Panchali?" Krishna asks at last. "What do you wish for?"

Once she might have echoed her father and answered _revenge_ , but that will suffice no longer. Now she needs something more tangible, something she can taste on her tongue, something to frighten the world from further atrocities. "Blood," she replies, short and savage.

"Dear one," Krishna says sadly. "Do you know what you ask?"

(She does. She wants it regardless.)

*

Satyajit is the firstborn of his siblings, and the most easily forgotten. By birthright he should be his father’s heir, but he is replaced, quickly, quietly, by his father’s more famous children. He never protests, only diminishes steadily into obscurity. So it is unsurprising that Krishna should seek him out, Krishna who never finds anything beneath his notice. “What does your heart desire, son of Drupada? Surely it must cry out for something.”

Satyajit half-smiles. “Nothing, my lord,” he says, and at Krishna’s questioning look, elaborates. “It wishes nothing, and wishes to _be_ nothing. In a family like my own, that seems the safer course of action.”

Krishna frowns, before chuckling outright. “Safer, indeed,” he agrees. “And well-said. Stand firm, prince of Panchal, and accept your boon. You at least I might see sheltered.”

(To save at least one of Panchal’s god-touched children from what awaits them: that is all Krishna wishes for. At times, he supposes, even the gods are due their own blessings.)

**Author's Note:**

> Sameepsita- (Sanskrit) wished for, desired.  
> For AllegoriesInMediaRes; I hope you enjoyed this, and Yuletide as a whole! :)


End file.
